Take a bite
by lenina20
Summary: One night of endless conversations, Klaus changes his mind, and Caroline's bright smile turns into a growl. After all, she never pretended to be anything but his enemy. Post 4x07 (very mild 4x08 spoilers)


She opens the front door with a big smile on her face. Doesn't stop to think about it. That it's _him_ knocking on her door right after sunset, and her mum's got the night shift, again, and she's happy that her best friend's free will has been compromised, because that means it may not be true, after all, that Elena is in love with—

"We figured it out," she says, making sure she's still smiling.

Klaus's smile, in turn, tugs at the corners of his mouth, but his brow wrinkles in confusion. Yet he says, "I'm happy for you, love,"—like he doesn't know what she is talking about, and doesn't particularly care.

But Caroline has to tell. She has to make sure it was that what he meant. "Elena is sired to Damon."

His eyes sparkle with surprise, his eyebrows rising. "Is she?"

He is still smiling, broader and genuinely amused, it seems. Caroline frowns; old habits of constantly second guessing herself assault her suddenly. For a second she almost asks him—_Isn't that what you meant?_—but she squeezes her bottom lip between her teeth, suffocating the words. She has to believe harder in herself, so she moves closer to him instead, blocking the front door with her body.

Klaus, of course, reads her body language without effort, and he moves closer too, clearly intending to retaliate. "Aren't you going to invite me in, sweetheart?"

Caroline simply shakes her head, because now that she thinks about it, well, _no way_. She hasn't asked him what he's doing here, and now it would sound just silly, after she has almost jumped at him in joy, so proud that she has figured it out, like he said she would, eventually; so happy that her friend isn't in love with a monster. So ready to prove it to him, that bad guys aren't really all they're cracked up to it.

So she doesn't say anything, just keeps on shaking her had and looks at him, hoping that he can read the unasked question anyway. He does, of course. His smile doesn't falter, but the glint in his eyes looks almost strained. "Is Stefan home?"

There's something in his voice. A strange intonation; a tiny bob, almost imperceptible, in the way his voice rises over _home_. For some reason that she doesn't understand, Caroline finds herself smiling openly once again. "He went to New Orleans with Damon, to look into the sire bond thing," she says, and she lets her eyes dig into his for a second or two of silence, to help her meaning come across when she adds, "Get it fixed."

Klaus nods, a quiet, almost inaudible, "Of course," before his smile sharpens and grows playful. "You shouldn't stay home all alone, love. It's Friday. Come for a drink with me."

Klaus's manners are impeccable, always, so the loss of 'would you like' or 'perhaps you might' creates a void in his proposition in which the assertiveness of his imperative echoes loud and clear. It makes it all the more easier for Caroline to scoff, shake her head and take one step backwards into her home. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"You sure?" His determination is unbreakable, she is staring to notice, and almost as unflagging as his infuriatingly conceited _and_ infuriatingly handsome smirk. "I could tell you one thing or two about your friend's—let us say, _condition_—if you wish."

It shouldn't be that easy, Caroline suspects, to make the decision. One roll of her eyes as she turns around to grab the purse that is sitting on the chair by the door, one light shake of her head, and in less than two seconds she's walking down the stairs of her porch, Klaus's hand steady on the small of her back, like she needs his help to walk the streets of her hometown without stumbling over her own terrible life choices.

* * *

"It wasn't _Elena_ that Stefan loved," he says, his long finger casually tracing the rim of his tumbler, replacing the shrugging of his shoulders that he suppresses, but Caroline can sense in the way he speaks, so matter-of-factly, like he hasn't just dare to speak blasphemy.

Caroline's eyes widen, and even though she doesn't gasp out loud in outrage, she does fists her hands in preparation, in case she needs to punch him. "Excuse me?"

Klaus smiles, his eyes softening as they move over her face. She pretends to breathe in, breathe out—deeply and regularly so she doesn't squirm under his relentless scrutiny. Klaus's smile only grows, clearly mocking her. "I've known Stefan longer than you, love. We were close friends once."

"You may have known Stefan back when he was a psycho, but he is diff—"

"Stefan _is_ a ripper, sweetheart." Klaus's eyes darken, and he leans closer. Caroline wants to move away, but she can't. The grip of his eyes won't let her. His voice, so _low_—"He can't taste one drop of human blood without completely losing control. He lives constantly on edge. Can you imagine living like that, Caroline? Always toeing the line that can push you over without a moment's notice? Never standing on safe ground. Knowing that the tiniest slip means losing yourself—"

As he trails off, Caroline realizes she is no longer pretending to breathe. Her chest has frozen, and so have her thoughts. What is he—?

"Elena was a reason to keep trying, I suppose." Now, he shrugs. "Watching her die old, wrinkled, happy and _untainted_—it might have given him a couple of decades of peace, at least. Maybe longer. But now—"

She cuts him off, steady and strong. "Now we find the cure."

Klaus's smile is weaker, but ever persistent. "For Stefan's peace? So he can love your friend again?"

"No!" Her right fist bumps into his shoulder and he has the grace to pretend it has any kind of effect on him; he frowns, opens his mouth in a mock expression of pain, and shifts slightly on his stool. Caroline has no trouble ignoring his silliness. She has something to say. "Stefan loves Elena."

_Still,_ she doesn't add. Stefan _still_ loves Elena. He will always love her. Forever.

But Klaus would only laugh, if she said something stupid like that. Never mind that it _is_ true. Regardless of how Klaus might be looking at her right now, like he can read her thoughts—he probably can, Caroline is so beyond being surprised by him anymore—and he finds her naïveté so cute. It's maddening. The way he actually dares to shake his head at her, while sipping from the obscenely expensive scotch he ordered the minute they entered the Grill.

"You said it yourself, love. Turning doesn't change who you are. Why curing her?" His blue eyes catch the dim glint of the bar lights while he stares her down, and she is one hundred percent sure that he is doing it on purpose. Judging by how the lightening compliments the drop of his voice, as he slowly whispers the words, "Their love can be _forever_ now."

Caroline simply refuses to listens. She actually refuses to even look at him, so she turns around in her stool before stepping down and grabbing her purse from the bar. "Thank your for the drink," she snaps, offended like he has insulted her.

She turns away and leaves the bar without glancing back once.

She doesn't realize until she's back in the street that Klaus hasn't said a word about Elena's 'condition'.

* * *

She isn't jealous of Elena.

It is _so_ not that.

Seriously. Being there and, unfortunately, done that. So no way _in hell_ she is jealous. The thought of Damon—the thought of Damon and Elena together. She can't stomach it. It literally makes her _sick_.

Caroline isn't resentful. She is forgiving like Elena is compassionate.

She forgave Alaric for killing her dad. She forgave her dad for torturing her to repress her blood thirst. She forgave Matt for leaving her when he found out the truth about her. She forgave Tyler for refusing to help her when his werewolf friends kidnapped her and tortured her. Isn't she determined to live by Elena Gilbert's guidebook and committed to the idea that everyone can be saved? She _has_ forgiven Damon for what he did to her—

—and—

Damn _him_.

She is sure one of these days she is going to forgive Klaus for his not-endearingly creepy-as-hell stalkerish ways.

Honestly? She isn't even surprised that, by the time she gets home after what was supposed to be a long, calming stroll across town, he is right there on her porch, patiently waiting for her to arrive, so he can keep on bugging her with thoughts unwanted and feelings that she does not feel at all.

"Seriously?"

He smiles at her like he always does, like a misbehaving child, guilty of nothing but being playful and fun, and in possession of getting-away-with-murder-_literally_ dimples. "I only wanted to make sure you got home safe and sound, love. You seemed upset when you left."

She makes a point of rolling her eyes at him, and insisting. "Seriously?"

He makes a point of keeping on smiling, nonchalant and unaffected. "Seriously, Caroline. But also," he concedes, with a tiny bob of is head, "I called Stefan, and he happens to be on his way. There's something I need to discuss with him, so I thought I'd wait for him here."

Here in _her_ house, of course. As if she didn't have enough reasons already to resent Elena's demonic love affair with the nastiest Salvatore. Whatever. She doesn't spare him a glance when she opens the front door and gets inside, leaving the door open after her so he can follow her all the way into the kitchen. _Whatever_, really. She needs to pick her battles, and there are too many bad thoughts running through her head these days, with Elena choosing Damon, and Tyler pretend-dating the pretty werewolf, and Stefan tiptoeing the dangerous line between heartbreak and psychotic ripper outbreak. She can handle Klaus.

"You have a beautiful home, Caroline."

But really, her eyes are going to start hurting if she keeps on rolling them and rolling them and rolling them. She can use a distraction, she knows, and can't help the thrill that runs down her spine when she picks the two blood bags out of her fridge, throws one across the kitchen so he grabs it. He tears it open with his teeth, of course, and Caroline's mouth waters, the thick scent of blood quickly filling the air of the room. It suddenly feels too small, too hot. She feels the strain of the muscles in her jaw, the skin around her throat stretching—and she latches onto the plastic, gulping down like her life depends on it.

She feels better immediately, more relaxed. But her senses remain enhanced, and she feels reckless, unbeatable like only a rush of blood in her mouth can make her feel. So she speaks, and doesn't really think about it.

"I never told Elena what Damon did to me."

She doesn't wait for him to go back to his usually affable demeanor; doesn't wait for the blackness to be erased from his dark-yellow eyes. Needs to be seeing the monster when she confesses—the old Caroline, insecure and needy, _needs_ to see the rage, shining for her sake. She feels her heart pumping with the race of new blood surging through her veins, and her head clouds with fury, suddenly, a combination of hunger and anger that justifies her half-truth. It's not entirely a lie. She never told Elena or Stefan the things she remembered when she turned, about the time she and Damon had spent alone after he first came into town. But before that, Stefan and Elena had figured out that he had been feeding on her and making her forget—they sure had figured out the rest. Caroline simply hadn't found the time to cry about it, after everything was too little, too late. She was embarrassed at how stupid she had been—how much of a worthless little human girl.

Klaus's feral snarl comes as a relief, as does his silence. He knows without her having to tell him, but still, she wants the words out of her chest. She feels the words piling up in her throat and they taste sweet as fresh blood—_We were kind of together, but back then I was_—but she can't she can't she can't. She is no longer that needy, that pathetic. It's just a second, after she speaks, but she is about to regret her blood-thirst-induced moment of weakness, when the quiet but unmistakably dry sound of the doorknob turning shakes her off of her momentary insanity.

After a thousand years of wandering the world as the biggest, oldest monster of them all, Klaus has no trouble evaporating the traces of the evil creature out of his handsome face. Before Caroline can even think of returning her features to looking anything resembling normal and peaceful and happy, Klaus has flashed to her side, leaned into her ear, whispered—"I could rip his hear out in a blink. It would solve a few of your current problems, love"—so low that she is sure that not even Stefan can't sense that he is speaking.

Caroline ignores him, of course, painting a pretty human smile on her face to greet her friend home. She ignores Klaus because she has too, because after all she knows he is buffling.

Stefan would never forgive him, if he dared hurt Damon.

* * *

"Stefan!" Her voice comes out strained, and Caroline wants to kick herself. Klaus's still standing by her side, far too close for comfort. As _usual_. "I didn't expect you until tomorrow. How was your trip? What did you find out?"

With a small shrug of his shoulders, Stefan turns his eyes to Klaus. "Klaus," he says, as one usually says _hello_. "If this is about Jeremy—"

"It's not," Klaus interrupts. Caroline can't see his face, but she is sure he is smirking as evilly as only he can. "As I am sure your most recent trip down memory line has thought you, at sire bond is not much to be concerned about. Hardly permanent, and easily breakable, as—" And Caroline feels it then, the air behind his words caressing her temple, "the Lockwood wolf-boy has most unfortunately demonstrated."

There's a pang in her stomach, immediately, but it's easy to ignore it when she notices the pained expression in Stefan's face. Whatever he has found out in New Orleans can't be good news, and yet—

"But about Jeremy, now that you mention it, I fear we have reached an impasse." Klaus's voice is so deep that Caroline feels it echoing against the walls of her small kitchen. The smell of blood is so thick, it is really hard to remain in control. It comes as a relief when he finally moves away, walking in the direction of her living room to sit on her couch like he owns the place. "I am not sure we are in an adequate position to be wasting valuable vampire lives for the sake of one girl's precious humanity—"

Stefan sits in front of him, staring him down with a look full of contempt, and Caroline has no option but to follow them, sitting by Stefan's side and repressing the urge to grab his hand in hers and squeeze. The living room, at least, is not boiling with the smell of blood like the kitchen was, after she and Klaus indulged in their little random aperitif. It should be easier for Stefan to fight his battle here.

"Elena would never trade her brother's humanity for her own," he finally says.

In response, Klaus's laugh is light and carefree, as if he was mocking Caroline's Miss Mystic Falls application once again. It ties a knot in her chest. It sounds foreign and inappropriate ringing through her living room.

"Elena doesn't want to be human either, a fact that neither of you seems to have any problem to ignore, as long as you get what you want out of the bargain, isn't that right?" His laugh dies a sudden, violent death as his voice grows darker, his expression deadly serious and threatening. He looks from Stefan to Caroline, and back to Stefan again. "You don't care a lick about what Elena wants as long as she stops loving bad, bad Damon, which is truly a nice thought on your part—but you cannot be such fools as to actually believe that getting a cure for vampirism or breaking a sire bond is going to change _that_, can you? Last time I checked, turning or being sired didn't make someone fall in love."

And just like that, the laugh is back, only now it sounds tainted and insincere. "Wouldn't that be something?"

Anger bursts through her system like a flashing, burning torchlight, and all of a sudden she wishes she had sit by Klaus's side so she could punch him again. "You disgusting little evil moron. What do _you_ know about love?

With a pacifying, condescending, and absolutely hideous smile, his eyes settle on Caroline for not even a second—"I have lived a thousand years, Caroline—" before landing on Stefan once again, like this is something meant for him and just for him. "I believe you have met my sister, haven't you? A thousand years falling repeatedly in love with the most inconvenient candidate possible every time, and she hasn't yet learned how to acquire healthier habits. We are lucky she is at rest now, or I am sure we would be facing some catastrophic apocalypse resulting from her silly infatuation with—" And of course his gaze returns to Caroline _now_—"your dear ex-boyfriend, Matt. I am sure of it."

She has no shame in mouthing the word at him. _Creepo._ Because really, is there anything he doesn't know? He only smiles wider though, and the urges to punch him grows sharper.

What are they even talking about anyway? True love and Rebekah and who does even care and why doesn't Klaus shut his hole already, _oh my God_—

"You can't fix Elena, my friend, like I can't fix my beloved sister." His voice is quiet, now. He sounds almost _reassuring_, and Caroline shivers at how upsetting that thought actually is. "She isn't broken."

The goddamned _bastard_ is right.

Caroline can tell in the way Stefan's shoulders fall forward as if a huge weight had been lifted off his back. She wants to protest. She wants to tell him that _no, damn it_, he can't give up. Their love is epic, and they are meant to be together forever—

—_forever_—

The goddamned bastard is _right_, and who is even surprised? Uggh. She hates him so much. At least now she is justified in her urge to grab Stefan's hand and comfort him, and she is even allowed to take a tiny bit of satisfaction when she notices the way Klaus's eyes narrow when she runs her fingers soothingly over Stefan's knuckles. She finds herself smiling in spite of herself, locking her eyes onto his and once again mouthing,_bite me_.

Klaus's very loud and deeply amused, "Gladly, love," doesn't even make her blink, and she feels proud of herself, even as unwanted thoughts start running madly through her head. Thoughts of Matt, so supportive of Elena now, having her feeding on him in the middle of church service. She has to close her eyes not to roll them, again, when she realizes Klaus's saying Matt's name has been a perfectly thought-out move to plant certain ideas in her head, like his knowing look during the pageant, his quiet _you'll figure out eventually_. He knows exactly what to do to plant the seed of what he wants her to think inside her head without as much as batting one of those ridiculously enticing eyelashes of his. He doesn't even need compulsion to work his way into anyone's head, and as she realizes, as the silence grows thicker in her living room, she genuinely shivers with dread.

Yet, it doesn't keep her from thinking about what Klaus wants her to think about. About how Matt had left her when she turned. How he couldn't love what she had become. How that hurt, the overwhelming feeling of worthlessness of her pathetic human days, amplified a million times over. She thinks about compelling her mom to forget that her daughter was a monster. Desperately trying to convince her dad that deep down, she was still his little girl. The same sweet Caroline he had known and loved.

Well, damn _him_.

"What about your hybrids? Why are you trying to convince us now _not_ to look for the cure?"

When Stefan finally—_finally_!—speaks, Caroline squeezes his hand harder, feeling grateful that his words at least help her focus on something else than her own guilt for wanting to 'fix' her best friend. But then Klaus frowns, looking genuinely puzzled, and Caroline has to convince herself that nope, that wrinkle in the middle of his forehead doesn't look endearing at all.

"I'm trying to save you some heartache, my friend," he says. "This has nothing to do with the cure. It just happens that—as it concerns my hybrids, as you said—there are more pressing concerns that whether we can get our hands on that map sooner rather than later."

Stefan's voice is all business when he asks, "What do you mean?"

Klaus's voice, however, rings with a million different meanings when he smirks, as he leans back against the couch, obviously getting more comfortable for what he intends to stay. He does love theatrics, after all. "Well, mate, that is what I wanted to talk you about, actually. As I have hinted at before, I've had the occasion to reevaluate my original plans of world domination." His eyes once again find Caroline, and when his gaze latches onto hers, he doesn't let go. "It seems that I overestimated the reliability of the sire bond, after all; as _your boyfriend_ the werewolf has just proven by getting each and every one of my creatures successfully unsired."

Caroline feels the silence that follows his words filling up the air between them like a fog, thick and blinding and dangerous. He _knows_.

The second she realizes, the second it becomes obvious that he always knew. Did they actually think that they could play him for a fool? He's the oldest and strongest creature in the world. Two daring but stupid teenagers are not going to outplay him. And yet—

Caroline feels no fear. The blood she drunk not long ago rushes through her veins as she returns his gaze with as much intensity as he is burning her with. She has played him and she has lied to him, but she has not betrayed him.

She never pretended to be anything but his enemy.

* * *

There are three tequila shots on the coffee table, again, and somehow Caroline suspects that alcohol might not be the best way to handle this conversation. But then Klaus gulps down his shot, his bright blue eyes still lock onto hers, and it would be pathetic to do anything but mirror his action and pour the liquor down her throat before she's had the time to blink.

Immediately, Stefan fills their tiny glasses again, but this time, they both refrain.

Instead, they watch Stefan nurturing his drink, and Caroline has time to count to ten Mississippi before Klaus begins speaking once again, his verbal diarrhea uncontainable as ever.

"Our bravest, most impetuous hybrid footballer has proven to be quite honorable in his purposes and almost inconceivably loyal to his pack of dogs," he says, in the quiet, relaxed voice that a man would use to tell a story of long ago. "But despite the honorability of his cause, young Tyler is not really the brightest crayon in the box, is he? And for a while now he has been lying to you, my dearest Caroline—or to himself, at this point I must confess that I am not entirely sure, you know how kids are these days, Stefan—about this budding feelings for a wild, reckless, _gorgeous_lady werewolf who, unfortunately, as every other werewolf, really, is conspiring with a greater force to assure the annihilation of the entire vampire race."

It's hard for Caroline to pay attention to what he is saying—Hayley is conspiring to have them all killed; she has being playing with Tyler; Klaus knows that basically every hybrid he ever sired is now free—when the way he is saying it is so blatantly meant to get her squirming. Tyler doesn't have any stupid _budding_ feelings for Hayley, who, by the way, is a total scheming bitch who is going to die. Soon.

Stefan clears his throat before finally gulping down his tequila shot, quickly filling the glass again. Caroline follows his example and, as he speaks, he refills her glass once again, eyes fixed on Klaus. "Are you saying that Hayley has been unsiring all of your hybrids so they can—what? Kill us all?"

"Most probably, yes." Leaning over the coffee table, Klaus takes the bottle from Stefan, holding it in one hand as he pours down his shot with the other, quickly refilling the glass when he's done and setting the bottle back on the table like it's a token each must hold before they dare say a word. "Either they bite you all into nonexistence, or they try and get me and my remaining siblings killed, so they can most successfully exterminate our species."

Caroline doesn't understand. "But—_how_? Why?"

"Why?" Klaus chuckles, "because regardless of what your deluded romantic inclinations might lead you to believe, sweetheart, all werewolves hate vampires, and all of my hybrids—your dear Tyler included, I might add—_are_ werewolves, in origin and in essence. Most of them would have gladly died before being turned, but I never gave them much of a choice, I must admit. My bad. Now they're free, and they might want revenge, or they might be in the hands of a powerful witch, or they might be fighting for a noble cause against the cruel creatures who would _happily_ murder one of them—his name was Chris, in case you don't remember—when it comes to saving one of their own—the name, in this case, is _Elena_."

The glass in Stefan's hand shatters and for a moment the rich scent of blood fills the room. But it stinks of deer and rabbit, and Caroline feels guilty for sympathizing with Klaus's expression of disgust. Stefan doesn't notice, anyway. "We gave them a martyr," is all he says, so quietly.

"Well, you did," Klaus agrees. "I only wanted a date with Caroline."

The cushion lands unceremoniously on his face, and Caroline sits on her hand not to raise her fist in triumph like a four-year old.

This time, Stefan is rolling his eyes at them. "So what do we do?"

For a second, Klaus doesn't bother even acknowledging his question. He is too busy throwing the cushion back at Caroline, playfully and without any strength or malice. She is sure he could break anyone's spine with a cushion thrown the wrong way, but there is only gentleness, unexpected this time, in the way he passes the cushion at her over the coffee table.

When she narrows her eyes at him with as much annoyance as she can muster, he smiles and turns his eyes to Stefan. "Well, mate, I say we prepare for war. There werewolves aren't alone. That university professor who seems to known everything about everything is with them, and—I am assuming here—so are The Five, for whom I fear Professor Shane is working. If the plan is to exterminate all vampires from the surface of this planet, then I believe it is safe to presume they will dispose of the hybrids, too, after their work is done."

She tries to cover up her gasp by gulping down her shot, bottoms up, but she is sure she does a very poor job at it. It's not really the realization that Tyler is also in danger, that being played by Hayley could mean _his_ death, too—but the certainty that once Klaus comes out the victor of this battle, he won't spare the rebellious creatures who have dared stand up against him. That is why he doesn't seem that interested in the cure, after all. Hybrids have become a liability.

She has to get Tyler out of town, she knows. But he would never—not once he finds out that it is his fault that—

—_no_.

Those are only thoughts Klaus is putting in her head.

One worry at a time. For now—"And how are we supposed to prepare for war?"

Caroline poses the question, but when he replies, Klaus is looking at Stefan. He's stood up, and he looks ready to leave when he says, "I'll wake my sister and give a call to my brothers—let's see if we can compel some of those hybrids into _not_ biting you all before you suck me dry trying to get a taste of my delicious panacea blood."

He doesn't even look at her, but _god_, the way his voice drops. She immediately remembers; the taste of him assaults her, settles on her tongue, and she feels it. The pull in her gums as her fangs grow; the veins around her eyes burning with want. She can literally hear his smugness, and she wants to kick him in the nuts even more than she craves a taste.

_Moron_.

He keeps on talking to Stefan, completely unaffected. "Call every vampire you've ever met and your brother hasn't managed to enrage, if such a thing is even possible." He smiles, then—beautifully and dangerously, and Caroline finally snaps out of it. "Tell Katerina I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if she could lend a hand. Tell her that Elijah will be here. He'll be happy to make sure I behave."

For a crazy fleeting second, Caroline considers cutting in to remind them that hey, how's that for weird, she's only dead because of Katherine's debt to Klaus. It seems a moot point now, however, and she kinds of enjoys the way Klaus's deep voice curls at the sound of her name, _Katerina_. He makes it sounds like they're talking about someone else—not the woman who snapped her neck.

Stefan stands up too, and he smiles, but sad and resigned. "Katherine doesn't do bygones very well."

"Well," Klaus shrugs. "Do call her, and don't forget to tell her you and Elena broke up. I'm sure she'll be here within the hour."

And what is Caroline supposed to do but flash towards him and punch him in the ribs? He's making fun of Stefan's pain, and she isn't going to stand by that. No way. Even if the consequences of her daring are that, even before she has time to realize what is happening, Klaus has her pinned to her front door, hands clutched with just three of his fingers wrapped around her wrists, arms pulled behind her back, and his breath only inches from her lips.

It doesn't hurt. He's barely touching her. His fingers are not squeezing her, but if she were to try and pull away, she'd hurt herself against his iron grip. She knows. That is why she doesn't pull away, and not because of the tingling ghost pressure of his chest only brushing hers as he leans closer, closer, eyes tightly locked on hers. "Don't test my patience, Caroline. Not tonight."

"Klaus."

The dry warning in Stefan's voice comes from somewhere far, far away. All Caroline can see is Klaus, all she can hear is the rhythmic sound of his heart beating with the blood she offered him when he followed her into her home, a million years ago.

It seems to Caroline that _tonight_ is never ending. Like she is trapped in a carrousel, or in a nightmare—and she can't ever get out of _tonight_.

So maybe that is why, when he flashes out without even a second's notice to let her know that he is pulling away—

She follows him outside without even thinking about it.

* * *

"Klaus."

He turns around on the spot, his eyes digging holes all over her as he takes her in—as if he doesn't quite believe that she is there, outside, in the middle of her front yard seeking him out.

It feels like a game, all of a sudden. Sometimes it's him chasing her. Sometimes the tables are turned.

She doesn't really know what she is doing out here. Didn't really think this through. She knows for certain she is _not_ going to apologize to him, because he is evil, and has no right or excuse for turning hundreds of werewolves against their will, controlling them like a puppeteer, like they are worth nothing, not even the dirt on his fancy shoes. Playing with their lives at whim. Exchanging them for a date with her, making her feel like trash because in this one, her hands are just as bloody.

Fortunately for Caroline, he puts an end to her embarrassing silence like he puts an end to all silences. In a flash he's inches from her once again, his hands cradling her face as his fingers sink into her hair and press lightly into the soft bones behind her ears. She feels lightheaded. She feels about to fall down and shatter if she dares to move.

"Caroline," he says. Only that, _Caroline_. But then—"You are such a rare specimen, love. In a thousand years I haven't seen light like yours anywhere, Caroline. You _are_ beautiful, by my life. You are so young and pure and fresh. You make me think about things that I haven't thought—"

His words trail off, and she is sure every little move, like every little word, is carefully rehearsed. But her pretend-breathing catches anyway, and she cannot even feel her limbs. She feels like she's standing on air, and only the tender grip of his inexplicably warm hands on her face is keeping her up.

He chuckles, almost sadly, and she is transfixed by the way the muscles around his throat tremble to accommodate the words he doesn't say. The words he says—

"But do not worry, love. I am aware of the side effects of your youth and innocence. You're reckless and naïve and I—I really do enjoy you." His voice is lower than a whisper, so low that she knows she is the only creature in the world that can actually hear him. He moves even closer then, and she feels the empty breath that accompanies his words tickle the tip of her nose. "You have a long time ahead of you to be cunning and cold, Caroline. There is no hurry."

He's clearly talking about something else than her naïveté—_there is no hurry_—and how silly she had been to believe that she and Tyler could play him. But it's hard to focus on anything but the short-lived feeling of his lips so softly, so fleetingly brushing against hers in a mock kiss clearly intended solely to inflict her with a painful burst of agony that morphs into sheer blinding fury the second he pulls away.

She gnashes her teeth at him like a rabid dog, eyes black and fangs bared. _How even dares he too—?_

"Easy, love." His hands comb her hair, attempting to sooth her back into peacefulness, and she wants to bite his nose off. "My most sincere apologies. I did not mean to do that."

_He did not mean to—_

She growls, loud and furious, and with a deep smile, he slowly bows his head and flashes away into the night.

Caroline stands there, trembling.

* * *

.end


End file.
